


Contract Killer

by Somedrunkpirate



Series: The Devil's Death [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Mythology, If pressed... I'd call it a meet-cute, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 00:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11196846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somedrunkpirate/pseuds/Somedrunkpirate
Summary: Two men meet in a bar.A problem in the hands of the one.By the hands of the other.Dark time ticks away.The Deadline is in sight.Will he make it?Who’s to say?





	Contract Killer

"You're late," the man at the bar says, hunched over the counter with a drink in his hand.

Disapproval colours his voice in dark tones that match his charcoal suit and gelled-back black hair. Eames smiles broadly as he slides onto the stool next to him. They make an intriguing contrast, Eames with his usual colourful patterns and this darkened entity.

"You can't expect me to be punctual, darling. We have eternity at our disposal. Why stress about being timely?"

The man looks up from lighting his cigarette with an unimpressed frown. He's everything Eames expected him to be – except younger. Definitely younger than Eames envisioned him.

Eames fishes a cigar from his pocket and stretches across the table. "Can you be a love and light this for me, pet?"

Eames receives a glare for his question, but he obliges, snapping his fingers. The cigar is aflame for a second, the fire almost burning Eames' fingers. But it's gone as quickly as it came, leaving only a lit cigar.

“Thank you,” Eames says before taking a drag and blowing the smoke up in the air. “I still think it’s unfair that you got the fire, though.”

The man rolls his eyes, snapping his fingers again to spawn a small flame above the bar. “I actually need it to do my job, unlike you.” The flame flickers and disappears; even the fire seems to disapprove of anything and everything. Eames thinks it’s going to be a trend with this guy. A pity.

“Speaking of which, I came here to actually work.”

A file is pushed toward him, but Eames shakes his head instead of opening it. “No, love. Although I do adore the pet names, is there anything I can call you? Job titles just seem too professional for me.”

“Arthur,” _Arthur_ says. He raises an eyebrow and taps the file. “Now read it.”

“Ar-thur,” Eames repeats, letting the name roll over his tongue.

Nondescript but reasonably handsome. Traditional. Eames wonders if it’s his actual name, or if he just made it up on the spot.

Arthur huffs impatiently and takes a drag of his cigarette, every movement portraying impatience and annoyance. No, he definitely did not make it up just now. He’s not whimsical enough for that, no imagination. This paper pusher with a deadly affinity would choose a name and stick with it. Arthur it is then.

“Is that all? No last name? I don’t have to call you Mister?” Eames mocks anyway, despite knowing the answers. He’s never been one to avoid obvious questions, for teasing purposes, of course.

Arthur rolls his eyes again, his fingers tapping against the wooden bar, and he checks his silver watch, antique but classy. “No. just Arthur, Mr Eames. Can we now continue, please?”

“Oh, you know my name already. I’m flattered.”

Arthur stops tapping and stares at Eames blankly. “Don’t be.”

“Now, now. Don’t be mean. So, why am I here? You didn’t arrange the first face-to-face of our history just to criticize my clothing choices didn’t you?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Eames shakes his head with a reproaching smile. “Love, you’ve been repressing the urge to set my shirt on fire for the entirety of this conversation. Don’t lie to me. I’m talented at seeing things like that.”

Arthur looks a little lost for words. “It’s just… too orange,” he mutters. “It shouldn’t exist.”

“But it does. How will you survive the atrocity?” Eames says, mock serious, and then he laughs at his own joke. Eames almost doesn’t see the twitch in Arthur’s lips, but he does because, like he said previously, he’s good at seeing things.

“You’re distracting me from the point,” Arthur snaps finally, pulling back from his fashion crisis to narrow his eyes at Eames.

“I’m also very talented at distracting. I’m very good at many things. You curious?” Eames leers, biting on his lower lip and waggling his eyebrows. Admittedly not his best work, but it’s worth it for Arthur’s snort.

“I’ll pass. Now, we’re getting back to the point. Look, I’ll even open the file for you.”

“You’re a love,” Eames smiles, and he looks at the file, because he’s fairly sure if he doesn’t stop annoying Arthur now, he’s going to get his gut cut open, judging from Arthur’s renewed glaring. He likes his intestines inside, thank you very much. You’d think that the healing thing would help, but it still is not a pleasant experience at all. “Oh, this is Saito. He’s a former client of mine. What’s wrong with him?”

Arthur nods, finishing his pull before answering. “Nothing at the moment. What was the deal?”

“He wanted a guarantee that his company would get the monopoly on the energy market. About sixteen years ago, he signed the contract? Odd fellow. He’s still the only one who’s ever read the whole contract, and he did it twice. He could fit right in with your bureaucrats after you’re done with him. Easy soul extraction, bit of a poor pay out. You shouldn’t expect too much of CEOs anyway; too little morals, makes for bad souls. What do you want to know about him?”

“It’s not him I care about. Not exactly anyway,” Arthur says briskly, before pushing another – opened – file towards Eames. “Fischer, senior. You promised him the exact same thing.”

There is some bitterness in Arthur’s voice, and Eames cannot help but laugh. “Darling, you know I’m a conman, right? I promise contradictory deals all the time. It’s my job. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

Arthur stabs his cigarette out harshly in the ashtray before flicking it away. “Normally, I don’t. But now it’s interfering with _my_ job.” He turns to Eames. “And I don’t like it when things interfere with my job, Mr Eames. Least of all your petty little deals.”

Eames holds up his hands placatingly, as Arthur’s frustration is getting close to gut-cutting levels again. “How does it interfere. What’s going wrong?”

Arthur sighs and taps with his finger on Fischer’s picture. “The Fates have commissioned for Fischer, and I’m already way over schedule. But I can’t seem to be able to finish the job until one of those contracts are called void, and I still haven’t found a way to do so. Because the one guy that actually read the damn contract is the guy who withholds Fischer’s contract from being fulfilled.”

“I made a contract so binding it’s stopping _you_?” Eames asks, utterly floored. He had known his forges were getting better, but Eames never would have thought something he’d made could withstand the wrath of Arthur on a Fates-ordered mission.

“Yes, you did. And now you need to fix it. I can’t allow the balance to shift, Eames. Fischer needs to die.” Arthur glares.

“So you need a loophole, and you thought, why not ask the Devil himself?” Eames smiles, rubbing his hands together in glee. “I have to tell you, darling, I did not see this coming, and I’m normally very talented–”

“I’m here because you made a mess. So, solve it,” Arthur interrupts him.

Eames smiles his most charming smile at that frowny face and pats his arm in cheery comfort. “Don’t worry about it, love. I’ll get you your loophole.”

“Good. You have two weeks. Same place, same time. Don’t be late,” Arthur says swiftly, rising from his stool, and buttoning his jacket with practiced fingers.

That makes Eames drop his smile, only a little. “Two weeks?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “You might not have any time constrained responsibilities, Eames, but I have deadlines to keep.”

“That was an actual joke. You just told me a joke. I don’t even know you, and I’m so proud of you right now,” Eames says honestly.

“You need to go now. I need to work. Heart attack in two minutes,” Arthur says while nodding to an old man at the back of the bar, nursing the fifth whiskey Eames has seen him order since he came here.

Eames pouts. “Can’t I stay for the show?”

“No, you’ll distract me or convince the man to sign his soul away at the last second,” Arthur says. “I’m not letting you steal any souls until I get the all clear.”

“You do have a point,” Eames sighs.

“I’m good at making points, Mr Eames. I have a talent, one could say,” Arthur deadpans.

Eames beams. “Another joke! Darling, this has been a most amusing evening. We should do this more often.”

And by some miracle, Arthur smiles. Only slightly, but it’s there. “Perhaps, if you get me that loophole in two weeks.”

Something warm floods Eames’ barren heart. They say those who let Death smirk or smile will be cursed for life. Eames doesn’t know if it’s the curse or something else, but he’s definitely feeling something.

A blink and the smile is gone, washed away by Arthur’s painfully punctual perfectionism. “Now go, Eames. Until next time.”

“It’s a date,” Eames smirks, before finally leaving Arthur to do his work in peace.

A date with Death itself. It sounds less catchy than ‘a date with the Devil,’ but Eames supposes they could make it work. He is sure they can make it work.

There is a scream and then sounds of commotion in the bar. Eames sees people frantically calling the emergency services through the window, while a young woman tries to keep the poor old man alive with CPR. It's futile, of course. Death is nothing if not efficient.

Arthur stalks out of the bar, all straight lines and confidence. Eames obediently steps aside, grinning at the glare he receives.

"Two weeks," Arthur reminds him unnecessarily, and then he's gone. No black smoke or rattling bones or anything.

Eames sighs; he should teach him some showmanship. Maybe as a second date.

**Author's Note:**

> So yes. Death!Arthur and Devil!Eames. 
> 
> There are going to be more stories like these in this series, but each one will be independent from the others. No continuation or prequels. 
> 
> I want to see what I can write within these themes, without needing to write long plotty monsters. 
> 
> Not every ficlet will have their roles the same as in this one, but they will keep their death and mythos themes. 
> 
> I hope you like it and join me for the next one :) The next one is much angstier I'm afraid. Heed the tags of each individual story!


End file.
